Lower Your Eyelids (To Die With The Sun)
by xxredwineandambiencexx
Summary: "I'll be your queen." She begins in a low voice, and it's enough to make those blue eyes snap to her. "But never theirs. Not while Lannister blood runs in my veins." No one ever thought that Daenerys Targaryen would ever come to take back the throne. But she did. Banished from Kings Landing, by order of the Queen the Summer Princess is to be wed to the Winter King.


"Do you think you'll be allowed to come back and live with us Cella?" Her younger brother, now King she has to remind herself asks her quietly.

They're out on the cliff gardens, sun beating down on them pleasantly as they bask in the last rays of summer.

Winter is coming it had been said, and she has to pretend that her heart doesn't twist at those words every time she hears them, a reminder of a future that could have been hers had her brother not intervened.

"I'm not sure." She replies softly, eyes squeezed shut against the harsh light. She's sitting on a stone bench, her face tilted back towards the sun.

Tommen is ignoring her for the most part, hands braced against the stone railing that looks out on the ocean and the limitless blue sky beyond. At fifteen years he is so _young, _too young to bear the weight of the crown that rests on his head.

"I'm the King now. I could command them to release you to me." Tommen points out thoughtfully as she muffles her laughter with her hand.

It was so like him to think of this now, even if it would be a fruitless attempt in the first place.

"You could try and you would be refused my sweet. The Dornish were promised my personage to foster as they see fit. They would not return me unless the situation was dire."

She sees his brow crinkle at her words, not quite understanding what she's getting at. And how could he? He is so sheltered from the cruel reality of the world, knows nothing about the hatred fostered between Dorne and the Lannisters.

Tommen has no idea that she's a prisoner, a hostage to guarantee the Lannister's cooperation with the Dornish.

"Well at least you're here now." Tommen allows with another frown as he turns his gaze out to the sea.

There's a long pause before Tommen speaks again.

"Cella, come and take a look at this bird. I don't think I've seen anything like it." Tommen remarks, confusion colouring his tones.

She stands and makes her way over to the balcony; following Tommen's pointing hand to the horizon.

She squints against the haze of sunlight, eyes slowly coming into focus as she gazes at the creature. It does look like a bird, albeit a rather large one.

And then the single bird splits into three, and her blood runs cold for a moment. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck start to stand up, her heart racing and her mouth dry.

"Tommen we have to get inside." She finally gets out as she grips her brother's hand quietly. "We have to get inside now." She repeats urgently as Tommen turns to look at her.

"But don't you want to see what sort of birds they are Cella?" He asks innocently, and her heart squeezes because he's still such a child, born into the wrong family and given too much responsibility too soon.

She hears a roar from far away and the blood rushes from her face. She'd heard whispers of them across the sea, a young Targaryen Queen with three children.

Dragons.

And now they were here in Kings Landing.

Tommen finally seems to cotton on to the clear and very present danger as he allows her to drag him from the gardens. They keep to covered areas, and she glances up at the sky just in time to see the sun blocked out.

Her world plunges into darkness. And then it turns to fire and ash.

* * *

><p>She awakes with a gasp, the smell of smoke heavy in the air. Her cheek is pressing into the stone cold floor, and every muscle in her body screams in protest as she raises herself to a sitting position.<p>

Tommen sits opposite her clear across the room, head buried in his hands and crown knocked askew. She didn't want to say it, but the chances of either of them living to see the next week was highly unlikely.

She wasn't even supposed to be here. It had been one of the Sand Snakes that had suggested that she go and visit her mother and brother in Kings Landing. Looking back on it now, she can't help but think it a pre meditated move. The city had been restful, and a ship to Dorne was ordered to wait as long as she needed. It was a kindness that had not been spared to her for many a year since she had been fostered in the desert kingdom.

She had been treated as a princess in Dorne. The Martell family had been civil with her, but never truly made her feel as if she belonged. And how could she, in a strange kingdom far away from where she had grown up?

They had tried to put her on the throne once, back when she was younger and easily swayed to their way and manner of thinking. Girls could inherit in Dorne, were treated so much more kindly there than in any other part of Westeros. Girls could make their own way in the world, answer to no one.

Always the third, always the spare, and always looked down on by her family, for not having a cock between her legs when she was born.

And a part of her knew deep down that she would receive no aid from Dorne this time. They had shown their hands, and had revealed that they would rather have a dragon on the throne than a lion.

And so it goes.

* * *

><p>Strange men with bells in their hair appear on her and Tommen's second day of imprisonment, because really, how else could it be described?<p>

They are wild and unfamiliar and she shrinks back in fear as the roughly grab Tommen, shaking him from his slumber and dragging him kicking and screaming from the chamber. She beats her fist against the heavy wooden door, screaming for her brother, for the men to bring him back to her.

And then she sinks to the floor with a soft moan.

She cries herself to sleep that night, because she knows that she's not going to see her brother alive in this life.

She can scarcely remember how she passes the time. She sleeps, and in between water and food seemingly materialise in her rooms. She paces, counting things. She counts the tapestries first, big things that she can see. But she soon grows, bored, restless as she begins to pull her gowns from her trunk, laying them all out on her bed before packing them away again.

She does this two or three times a day.

She doesn't know why she does it. It's a distraction, a way to keep her mind occupied against her troubled thoughts.

She watches the passage of the sun and the moon, forced to sit and wait out her fate. In the darkest hours of the night she sits, arms wrapped around herself as she calculates how far she would have to fall from the window to have a quick death. An easy death, and one without pain.

They come for her on the sixth day. She is ready. The men that accompany her to the throne room are just as unfamiliar, just as wild and untamed as those that had dragged her brother to his death. They are not gentle with her, and march her between them like she is a common criminal.

The dress she wears is crimson red, Lannister red. It is vivid enough to give anyone pause, and she hopes that it will have the same effect on the Queen.

The colour of blood is one that you do not forget easily.

She's never sat the Iron Throne herself. She knew well enough that it was never her place, that it never would be her place. But she knows the story well, the melted down swords that make the seat so uncomfortable.

Today, the Iron Throne seems to almost swallow Daenerys Targaryen. The other girl isn't wearing a crown. But somehow she seems to radiate power, staring imperiously at her from above like she's nothing more than an ant to be crushed with a boot.

The two men, Dothraki she realises suddenly as she glances around the throne room forces her to her knees. But she is a Lannister, and shows no signs of deference to this upstart Queen, the woman who has most probably murdered her brother in cold blood.

She's heard tales of the madness that seems to run thick and strong in the veins of the Targaryen's. She wonders if it is present in this new Queen. The way that she took the city, bathing it in fire and blood would seem to suggest so.

"I've deliberated for a long time over what to do with you." The Queen begins and she has to hide her surprise at just how soft her voice is. It's a strange contrast to the steely exterior that she displays for everyone else.

"You see, I know what it's like to be an unwilling pawn in the plots and machinations of others. I care not for your parentage, but I care about the threat you pose to myself and my kingdom."

She remains silent, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry because, Tommen, Tommen, her sweet brother is all she can think about right now, the terrified look he'd given her when he'd been dragged kicking and screaming from the room.

Her sweet brother, who she would never gaze upon again.

"I do not believe in unnecessary cruelty." Daenerys continues as she forces herself to look at the Queen once more. "I do not want to be your enemy, and I know that you care for your brother above all else. It is for this reason that he has been confined to Storm's End. I could not however, extend the same courtesy to your mother. She was executed yesterday."

She nods once to herself, sending a prayer to the seven that her mother finds more peace after death than she ever did in life.

"In the absence of your mother, it falls to me to decide what must be done with you next. I had half a mind to send you back to Dorne before I was advised of a more elegant solution."

Daenerys glances sideways, but she does not follow her gaze.

"Your Uncle told me that you were fond of the North as a child. I recognise and take into account your former titles. Robb Stark was a great ally to me in a time of great need, and I have allowed him to secede and govern Winterfell separately from the rest of Westeros. You will go North, and the two of you will wed one day when you are older." Daenerys finishes with an odd smile on her face.

She freezes, eyes finding the young Targaryen quickly. She knew well of Robb Stark's exploits in the field of battle. They are nothing short of legendary. They called him the Young Wolf, a monstrous direwolf snapping at his heels everywhere he rode.

"A Queen you shall be. It's what you always wanted wasn't it?" Daenerys asks coolly, a cruel smile spreading across her face.

It takes every ounce of strength to not melt to the ground. But she juts her chin out defiantly, and she sees the shadow of doubt in the eyes of the Queen.

She is not porcelain. She is ivory, she is steel. She is the rock in the stream that alters the course of water.

She never wanted to be a Queen. Not if this was what it cost her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So yeah I've started a new story haha. Don't worry, I'll still be working on my Klaroline stuff.<strong>

**I always seem to ship the doomed pairings, and i fell in love with Robb/Myrcella after reading a whole bunch of fics over on AO3 and on here. This is my contribution to the fandom, as small as it is!**

**This is my first foray into A Song of Ice and Fire, and it's been some time since i've read the books. It may take me awhile to get a grasp on the characters, but i hope you bear with me!**

**xx**


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